The Room
by ChickenSoupForDinner
Summary: Moriarty has captured John and has come up with the most horrible torture he can think of. Cracky fluffy crack.


Disclaimer: This is cracky crack written at 5am because I was tired of all the torture fics. Read at your own risk. And I do not own Sherlock.

It is a Sunday afternoon and a small boy in his best clothes sits awkwardly in an overstuffed chair; his feet hanging a few inches above the thick white shag carpet. His suit has been pressed, and though he is still forced to wear shorts, even on cold days, he feels at home in them in a way that he does not feel in normal clothes. It is the only reason he likes going to church and the only reason he likes Sundays. The parlor is cramped as knickknacks of every kind cover every available surface: little china kittens, ceramic hens, a tin filled with toffees. The air is as stuffy as the room and slight claustrophobia creeps up in him. A fat white Persian jumps onto the couch across from him and looks at him with its evil yellow eyes. The boy shudders, but is horribly transfixed as he watched the little pink tongue dart from the cat's mouth and proceeds to lick one of its paws. The boy feels it glaring at him between licks.

"Jimmy," a voice calls from the kitchen, "come help your Nan with the potatoes."

The boy runs to the kitchen, grateful for an excuse to get away from the evil cat.

It is many years later and the boy has grown up into a successful adult. He wears designer suits every day of the week now. And though it can be said he does not have what would be called a normal career, he does find his work fulfilling. And tonight is a special night. He is driving down a dark road in the early hours of the morning. Thin fingers of fog creep across the tarmac, and once or twice he hits a small woodland creature with his car, smiling in satisfaction at the small bump as it goes under the wheels. He hears pounding and a muffled yell coming from the back of his trunk. His guest has woken up.

Jim speeds up, trying to get to the warehouse before dawn. He needs to get there before people start waking up. Secrecy is of the upmost importance for this plan to work. He needs time to settle his guest in before Sherlock inevitably comes barging through the door. John is not going to like what is waiting for him there.

He turns on to a gravel road and the pounding stops for a moment, as John tries to figure out what has just happened, before resuming again. Moriarty thinks he must be trying to kick out one of the tail lights so he can signal to other cars to let him out. Jim chuckles at the thought. He knows about this trick and has taken measures to reinforce the boot of his car to prevent any such damage, and even if John did manage to kick out a light, there was no one else on the road to see him. But it was nice to know that the good doctor had some fight left in him, it would make the whole thing more enjoyable. A moment later he pulled up to a sad, abandoned building.

Jim takes his time putting on his coat, smoothing his hair and suit, and getting out of the car. He opens the boot to find John glaring up at him. The doctor tried to kick him, but his feet were tied together and Jim had been expecting this, so he easily ducked to the side. He then whacked John hard across the knees. "You better behave!" he snapped. John kicked again. Moriarty tasered him. John went limp.

Moriarty dragged the unconscious doctor inside. Usually he did not like doing his own leg work. But this time was special. This time he was going to break the good doctor and, in doing so, burn the heart out of Sherlock. He peeped inside the room, the animals were still in there, and heaved the unconscious John against the wall. He pulled up a creaky wooden chair and sat down to wait. There was not rush now, no one knew where they were. They were totally alone for about four miles. No one would hear to the good doctor's screams.

Time passed and John slowly regained consciousness. He started as Moriarty came into focus and tried to kick out at him, even though he was still bound and gagged.

"Let's not start that again," Moriarty warned in a sing-song voice and held up the taser in his hand. John went still, though the terror still shone in his eyes. "Here is what we are going to do. I am going to untie you, you are going to walk into that room, and I am going to lock the door. If you don't do exactly as I say, I will shoot you with this," he held up a gun, "and then throw you in, and let the blood drive them into a frenzy."

He saw John's eyes widen and smiled. There was a quiet yet sinister scratching coming from the room. "Yes, John, there are creatures behind that door, a hundred of them. A gave them a little food to keep them alive while I got you, but they should have finished it by now. I am not exactly sure what they'll do to you, but it will be fun to find out."

John shook his head and started struggling, but Moriarty pointed the gun at him and he stopped moving immediately. "Good," Moriarty purred, "now keep still while I untie you."

John didn't move a muscle while Moriarty cuts his bonds and ripped the duct tape off his mouth. John got up slowly, Moriarty's gun still pointed at him. "Into the room now, there is a good lad."

John swallowed before slowly turning to face the door. His hands shook. He opened the door, stepped inside, and heard Moriarty bolt it behind him. "Have fun," the man called before flicking a switch and filling the dark room with light.

It took a moment for John's eyes to adjust, but then he saw them. They were everywhere. They were piled on top of each other and rolling around. He leaned against the door. He could not speak. His thought had become incoherent, as he looked into their eyes. Their large, round eyes.

"Dwaaaaawwwwwww," he cried in a voice that was not his own, his pitch rising painfully high.

Moriarty smiled in satisfaction. John was making incoherent exclamations that no grown man in his right mind would make. He was surprised how fast it had worked. Surely the beasts would be tearing him to shreds right now. Strange high pitched noises were coming from the room. Jim pulled out is phone and called his favorite consulting detective.

"Sherlock," he sang, "I have a present for you."

Sherlock cautiously entered the warehouse, expecting to be set upon at any moment by Moriarty's men, but there was no one there. He walked in, let his eyes adjust, and looked around to see Moriarty sitting in a chair, quite nonchalantly, and reading something on his kindle. He did not look up until Sherlock was only five feet from him.

He faked a look of surprise before his face split into a smile. "Sherlock," he cried, "So glad you could join me." He stood up, put the kindle on his chair, and walked over to great Sherlock with an air of welcoming an old friend.

Sherlock stood their stiffly as Moriarty hugged him. "Where is this present you promised me?" he asked.

"Patience, patience, all will be revealed," replied Moriarty before stepping to the door. "Now close your eyes, Sherlock, I want it to be a surprise."

Sherlock walked in front of the door and stopped far away enough so Moriarty could not shove him in, and closed his eyes. "Well?"

"Ta-Da," Moriarty cried triumphantly as he threw open the door.

Sherlock opened his eyes and his jaw dropped, a look of shock crossed Jim's face.

John was covered in them. A kitten was sitting on John's shoulder and batting his ear, while another was pawing his thigh. Five more were play fighting around where he sat and the rest of the room was an undulating, mewing, fury mass. John had a kitten in his lap and he was scratching its belly and cooing. He looked up when the door opened and his face was a study in perfect happiness. "Sherlock," he cried joyfully, "look what I found! I named it Sherley, after you. She has your eyes." He held up the blue eyes kitten for Sherlock to see and the kitten let out an adorable squeak.

Moriarty could not believe the good doctor could befriend such monsters. He legs felt weak.

"John, put down the kitten, we are leaving," Sherlock snapped.

John looked hurt. "I can't leave them, they need love and attention and a family. They're my people." A look of ecstasy spread across his face. "Sherlock, we can adopt them and take them home with us. They can be our children!" He turned to look at the kittens. "Would you like that? This is Benny, and Susie, and Mr. Paws, and Fluffy, and Timmy."

John continued to name kittens as a look of disgust and horror distorted Sherlock's features. "We are not taking the kittens home with us, John!"

John looked mulish and turned away. "Sarah would let me take them home." He picked up another kitten and hugged it too his chest while meowing at it as if he were having a conversation.

Sherlock grabbed Moriarty by the lapels and shook him. "What have you done to him, what have you done to my Doctor?"

Moriarty just laughed. It was a deranged laugh. It went on and on and on. Even after Sherlock had stormed out of the warehouse and it was just Jim, John, and the horrible kittens, he kept laughing. He didn't stop until a shoe hit him in the side of the head.

"Be quiet! They are trying to sleep," John hissed at him, cradling three kittens in his arms. If John could withstand the horror of a hundred, horrible, evil kittens, then Moriarty could think of nothing crueler to subject him too. His plan had never failed so spectacularly before. He left a defeated man.


End file.
